


Survival

by The_Fangirl_Sunstorm



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Additional tags will be added by chapter, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Blood, Gen, Graphic Description, Grief, Injury, Kinda making this up as I go, Mentions of Death, Mentions of blood and gore, Nausea, Panic Attacks, Sad Backstories, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, can you tell I’m a walking dead fan?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fangirl_Sunstorm/pseuds/The_Fangirl_Sunstorm
Summary: Virgil sat on the floor of his cramped hiding space, trying desperately to remain silent as the moans of the dead sounded from right behind the wooden door. The frightened teen’s leg was on fire, throbbing with a fierce intensity that sent pain up his whole side. Virgil gripped his arm in an attempt to remain grounded, knuckles turning white from the effort of holding back the sobs threatening to build in his throat.
Relationships: Platonic LAMP/CALM
Comments: 92
Kudos: 139





	1. The Closet

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: panicking, blood, injury, zombies

Virgil sat on the floor of his cramped hiding space, trying desperately to remain silent as the moans of the dead sounded from right behind the wooden door. The frightened teen’s leg was on fire, throbbing with a fierce intensity that sent pain up his whole side. Virgil gripped his arm in an attempt to remain grounded, knuckles turning white from the effort of holding back the sobs threatening to build in his throat.

He examined his lower leg and ankle with careful but shaking fingers- the bleeding had been slowed for the past few hours, but the effort it had taken to hobble and drag himself to the office closet seemed to have reopened the cut even more, and he watched as red began to stain the edge of the bandages. 

Virgil could remember Logan’s worried face as he expertly wrapped the gauze around the anxious one’s cut just hours before. The logical one has insisted on tending to the injury before the three of them had left. They all did their best to make sure Virgil was comfortable, but there was very little they could do for the pain. In this world, they had a hard enough time finding food, let alone medicine. The low-grade stuff they had managed to track down, a pack of Advil, had only just taken the edge off, and the last of it had definitely worn off by now, leaving him to face the full extent of the injury, _alone_.

The combination of pain and absolute terror wracked Virgil’s body. He wrapped his arms around his torso as he began to shake from shock and fatigue. The teen struggled to pull air quietly through his lungs, chest heaving from the effort of trying to keep silent, and to avoid spiraling into a panic attack. The office closet he had only just managed to barricade himself in felt suffocating and the sounds of fingers clawing against wood from just behind the door only served to further drive Virgil to the edge of his fraying composure. And beyond all that, was the fact that the others could be _out there_ right now. Virgil smothered a sob in his jacket sleeve, eyes stinging as his body began to shake harder.

_Oh god,_

**_Logan, Patton, Roman._ **

Virgil took in a sharp, choked breath, tears already beginning to stream down his face. He gripped the balled up front of his shirt and held it against his mouth, muffling the cries so that none of the dead would hear and discover him. 

_The others could be_ **_hurt_ ** _, they could be trapped just like him, and_ **_he couldn’t do anything to help_ ** _. It was all his fault that they had separated in the first place, if he hadn’t gotten injured, they would’ve never gone on a supply run without him. This was his fault, he was helpless._ **_Your fault, useless, your fault, your fault-_ **

Virgil gasped for air as his lungs tightened. Distantly, he understood that he was on the edge of hyperventilating. He needed to _breathe_ or he would pass out. He couldn’t afford that, it would be dangerous considering the amount of blood he had already lost. 

_“In for four… hold for seven… out for eight.”_ The brown-eyed teen thought to himself desperately, repeating the phrase over and over as he fought for control of his aching lungs. Slowly his breathing evened out from harsh, painful pants, to deeper, more measured breaths. The anxious teen had grown used to having others there to steady him, it had been a long time since he had to face it all alone. 

_It was_ **_so much harder_ ** _without someone else there to ground him,_ but Virgil pushed the dull ache of that thought to the side before the grief could pull him under again.

Finally, the anxious teen managed to steady his breaths. He slumped against the wall, exhausted as the fading affects of adrenaline and his panic began to take their toll. He propped his head against a cardboard box filled with paper records, uninjured leg curling protectively to his chest. The teen’s eye fixed itself against the crack in the door, through which he could see the shadows of the dead as the shuffled restlessly about.

—————————————————————

The four survivors had been doing ok the past couple of weeks, going from place to place, scavenging and fighting off the dead at every turn. The group had been running through an abandoned construction site when Virgil had tripped over some rubble, landing hard on a pile of demolished materials. Later inspections showed that the fall had given him shallow cuts along his entire side, but at the time he hadn’t even noticed them, too overwhelmed by the pain in his lower leg and ankle. Virgil had landed on a jagged piece of metal, and the cut was deep. The others helped carry him to the nearest building, which happened to be a school. 

By some miracle, they managed to find the nurse’s office. Virgil could remember their panic, Roman’s wavering voice, and Logan’s face, pinched with concentration and thinly veiled fear as he instructed the other two, getting Patton to help stop the bleeding as Roman barricaded them in the room. 

A few days passed, and it was clear that Virgil would not be able to keep moving anytime soon. Despite his protests, putting any weight at all on his foot was pure agony, and he was pale and weak from blood loss.

Normally they would have left an area like this as quickly as possible. They were in a city, which meant every street was practically crawling with the dead, and the smell of rot hung in the air.

Whispered fears of _infection_ and _only going to get worse_ , began to punctuate conversation, as their supplies dwindled. 

In the end, the others had no choice but to go on a supply run. Virgil fought against it, supply runs were normally _his_ job, they didn’t have as much experience as he did. _What if they got hurt, he wouldn’t be able to protect them._ But there were no other options. Patton offered to stay with Virgil, but in the end he declined. 

Virgil promised the shorter boy that he would be alright on his own, but his face remained pinched with worry despite Virgil’s reassurances. Not that Virgil could blame him. Patton was the caretaker of the group, and he no doubt could see through Virgil’s attempt at bravado. Virgil squared his shoulders all the same, determined not to show any more weakness. The others needed to be focused on the task at hand, and worrying about him any more than they already were was a distraction they could not afford. 

The others left early in the morning, with the promise to be back by the end of the day. Patton gave Virgil a hug before stepping back, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack. Logan gave him a small smile, and Roman lifted two fingers to his temple in a joking salute, as if they were walking to the corner store instead of facing terrible danger.

Virgil thought of it again now, how afraid he had been for them even then, how much he wished he could ask them to forget the run, to stay with him, injury be damned. But he knew better. He knew that if he was in their place, he wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to help them. So he kept quiet, fingers gripping the edge of the exam table as he watched the other three walk out the door and out of sight. Virgil curled his uninjured leg to his chest and settled in for the long, tense wait.

It was just after dark, that he heard it. A dull shuffling sound from down the hall, the thump of stumbling feet on stiff, dead limbs. The sound made Virgil’s hair stand on end, shooting ice and adrenaline into his veins. A low moan reached Virgil’s ears and the teen began to tremble as other growls began to fill the air.

_The dead were_ **_here_ ** _, inside the building. He had to_ **_hide_ ** _._

The anxious teen’s eyes widened with fear, as the sounds of the oncoming horde drew closer and closer. Virgil swung his legs over the table’s edge, placing both feet on the ground. He took a shaky step forward, then another, before the boy’s knee buckled, pain shooting up his side in white hot streaks as his vision exploded with stars. The teen clutched his forehead, which had banged solidly against the floor in the fall, feeling the beginning of what was sure to be an ugly bruise. Virgil tried to stand up again, but his injured leg refused to support his weight, and the teen once again found himself on the floor. 

There was a loud crash from just outside the door, and Virgil knew he was out of time. He gazed around, desperate, until his eyes landed on the closet. **_There_ ** _, that was his only hope._ The teen dragged himself along the cheap carpet, and then pushed himself off the floor with his good leg. 

“ _C’mon, c’mon Virgil,_ ” he spoke to himself, adrenaline urging him forward through the haze of pain and fear. He clutched the doorknob and turned the lock from the outside, before hobbling into the small storage closet and closing the door. The lock clicked into place and Virgil slumped against the wall, chest heaving from exertion.

The sound of dragging limbs and moans filled the air just outside, as the dead began to crowd the room Virgil had been in just moments before.


	2. The Ceiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: more panicking, blood, injury, zombies

The clawing sound of fingers on wood was growing more frantic by the minute as the door to Virgil’s refuge began to shake on its hinges. The anxious teen sat, frozen, for one terrible second, shock still numbing his brain and making it hard to organize other thoughts. Then fear cut through him, and it was like someone had flipped a switch in his brain.  _ Move _ , it said, and the teen was thrown into action. His hands grabbed at the knife strapped to his thigh, one that had kept him alive since the beginning of the outbreak. 

“ _ No _ ,” Virgil thought to himself, “ _ That won’t be enough, not against this. _ ”

He didn’t have a breath of a chance of fighting his way out. Not on an injured leg that was quickly staining its bandages from slightly red to deep crimson, and with nothing but a hunting knife at such close range. He knew he would be torn apart before he could even take a step. 

Virgil needed a way out. He looked around, but of course there were no other exits. He was trapped. The realization set in and the teen overturned boxes and rifled through the metal filing cabinet shoved in the back of the small, cramped space, desperate to find something that could save him. 

“ _ Please, please there has got to be a way. _ ” Virgil pleaded under his breath, hands shaking as he continued to rifle through papers and nurse’s equipment, knowing that none of that would be of any use to him now. 

“ _ I don’t want to die.” _ The teen choked out. There was too much at stake.  **Roman, and Patton, and Logan.** They had all seen so many good people die, seen lives cut cruelly short by the dead’s hands. Virgil couldn’t add himself to the list. He didn’t want to lose them, and he knew a part of them would die too if he was gone. They were all family now. They depended on each other.  _ They needed him _ .

Desperate, Virgil felt along the walls. He no longer knew what he was even looking for, fingertips brushing the cheap plaster, driven on by adrenaline and panic. He looked up at the ceiling, only just able to make out the details in the dark space. It was made out of industrial square tiles, and the sight stirred a desperate plan. The tiles looked thin and easy to move, maybe he could push one of them up and climb through. 

Virgil forced himself to a standing position, despite the fact that his head was already pounding, a deep throb right behind his eyes that was making it hard to breathe. His good leg shook from strain as he hoisted himself on top of the metal filing cabinet, and his other leg radiated with pain at the sudden action.

The emo reached both hands above his head and pushed against the ceiling tile, moving it halfway open before the teen’s shaking frame caused him to falter, falling off the filing cabinet and landing sharply against its partially open drawer. The fresh wave of pain caused him to let out a strained whimper, and he balled his fist over his mouth as the dead began to sound even more frenzied from behind the door.

_ I’m out of time,  _ The teen thought to himself, knowing that he had mere moments before the door’s hinges gave way. Fear flashed in the boy’s eyes, still bloodshot from tears, and then the expression was tempered by something a bit stronger. Virgil’s features became set with grim determination, and he braced his arm against the wall as the teen once again forced himself to stand.  _ No freaking way I go down like this. _

The teen crawled on top of the metal cabinet again, and pressed his hands against the ceiling, sliding the tile up and to the side to create an opening large enough for the slender teen to get through.  _ Now for the hard part,  _ Virgil thought to himself as he grabbed the border of the opening, preparing to hoist himself into the ceiling. 

Had he been at full strength, Virgil may have been able to pull himself up in one smooth motion. As it were, it took several short hops and a hard, drawn-out pull, arms shaking from the effort as his upper half made it up and through. Virgil was reminded ridiculously of a child trying to pull themselves out of the swimming pool, arms and torso resting on the tile as his lower half dangled in mid-air and his breath turned to harsh, sharp pants. He allowed himself a few moments of rest like that before drawing on what little reserves of energy he had left. The teen turned on his side and ungracefully lifted his legs through as well. As he was doing so Virgil’s injured leg scraped sharply against the opening, bandages tearing on sharp, digging material as he lifted, and this time he could not stifle the cry of pain as the white hot feeling flooded his senses.

Virgil clutched his thigh as if trying to stop the agony. It was almost blinding, and at the moment it was all Virgil could do not to submit to the pain as blackness made the edges of his vision go fuzzy. His bandages now lay partially torn, dirt mixing with the blood as the abused wound began to bleed heavily again. 

_ I’m not safe yet.  _ Virgil thought, and he wanted to sob at the desperation clawing in his chest.  _ I just want this to be over. I just want all of this to be over.  _ Tears from pain and terror stung Virgil’s eyes as his chest heaved with harsh, rasping breaths. 

The smell finally drove the waiting horde over the edge and Virgil watched with dull horror through the red haze as the door to the closet finally began to give way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter's a little shorter, but don't worry, there will be more :)
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!


	3. The Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: panicking, blood, graphic description of injury, nausea, zombies

Virgil’s eyes widened in fear as the first of the dead began to crowd the small space below him. Snarling mouths filled with yellowed teeth, and claw-like hands reached for him above, driven on by the smell of blood and fear coating the teen. The smell of decay burned his nose, and the stench alone would have been enough to make the emo recoil, but the sight of the corpses was somehow even worse. 

One particularly decayed zombie, with empty, rotted eye sockets reached for him with a bony hand, a chunk of flesh hanging off its arm as it did so. Virgil felt his stomach lurch in fear and revulsion. The teen scrambled backwards a foot, before turning on his side. His stomach heaved, and he had only a second to angle his mouth away before he began to spit up what little food and medicine had been left in his system. He managed to prop himself up on his arms as he did so, lying on his side as he spat up bile. He had always hated throwing up, and on an already nearly empty stomach it was even worse, his abdomen cramping as he dry heaved. It was over quickly at least, and the teen for once was almost glad that there had been little to eat that morning, and that he had insisted on splitting the shares equally, the others had needed it just as much as he had. 

_ A lot of good it ended up doing me,  _ the teen thought bitterly as the dry heaves finally subsided. The groans from right below him increased, and though Virgil did not lean over the hole in the ceiling to look, he could picture the horde beginning to cram itself into the small space below, jostling each other as they tried to reach the teen with outstretched limbs.

_ I have to move,  _ Virgil thought grimly to himself, breath rasping in his throat which was raw from stomach acid. The teen felt achy and weak, but he forced himself into a hunched sitting position, the crawl space too small to allow him any more room. He examined his leg in the dim light, which was still aflame with pain from its many mistreatments and bleeding freely through ruined bandages. 

Virgil peeled off the ruined outer layer of gauze, which had torn on the metal lining of the tile when Virgil had lifted his legs through the opening. The teen gritted his teeth as he removed the blood soaked strip from where his injury had reopened, pain making him dizzy as he peeled off the cloth plastered to his skin, exposing the worst of the wound to the open air. The injury spanned from his ankle to mid-calf, and had begun bleeding hardest near the ankle, where movement of the joint from walking and hobbling had further torn the skin. Virgil’s stomach clenched at the sight of his leg, the blood and raw, torn flesh making him want to be sick for a second time. With much effort, the teen pushed back the waves of nausea. 

Needles of pain shot up his whole side with every touch, and it was with shaking fingers that Virgil rewrapped his wound with the less dirty of the bandages, knowing that stopping the flow of blood was crucial in this moment. He had already lost a lot, and he knew that if he went on much longer he was at risk of bleeding out. Virgil removed the white undershirt he had been wearing under his clothes, placing his purple top and hoodie quickly back on before wrapping it around his leg as well. 

“ _ You know that’s not going to be enough, _ ” he thought to himself. Virgil had limited experience with medicine, aside from the average number of doctors visits he had gone to what felt like a lifetime ago, but even he knew that a thin layer of gauze and a ratty t-shirt would not be enough to stop a wound of this size. 

A memory tugged at the back of Virgil’s mind, something he had learned in a first-aid class his school had offered years ago. “ _ If you are ever in a survivalist scenario, and you must stop a wound from bleeding you can cauterize it using a piece of heated metal _ .” The teacher had shown the class a video of the process, but the thought of such a thing made Virgil nauseous and he had asked to be excused from the room, waiting outside the door and attempting to settle his stomach while the other students watched. The only other memory of the process he had was what the narrator had said at the very end of the video, after Virgil had returned to class. “ _ Remember, cauterization should only be used as a last resort, as the process can be dangerous if done improperly, and the risk of infection goes up after performing the act. _ ”

_ Well _ , the teen thought to himself,  _ there has never been a more desperate time than now. _ The thought of attempting to cauterize his own leg terrified him, but his vision was beginning to blur and his thoughts were getting harder to keep on track.  _ Woozy _ , he managed to think,  _ the blood loss is making you woozy.  _ He placed a palm against the floor to steady himself. The tile under his hand creaked with strain, and a fresh wave of panic helped to center Virgil’s thoughts. The ceiling was not meant to hold a person’s weight, and gaunt as Virgil may be from undernourishment, he was still heavy enough to make the tile unstable.  _ He needed to get to a stronger surface before it caved in.  _ The emo spotted a grey metal box attached to the tiling a few feet away, it looked like a large air conditioning unit, or a maintenance box of some kind.  _ It would have to do.  _

The teen inched his way along the ceiling’s surface, leg throbbing with every movement, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. The tile groaned under him and Virgil winced, knowing that the sound, and the smell of his blood would soon attract even more zombies to stand below him, waiting for the inevitable moment, when the teen would falter and fall into their waiting grasp. The metal box was two feet away, then a foot and a half, then it was in his grasp. Every movement was agony, and the space between him and safety seemed immense and unachievable, time stretching out into minutes as he ever so carefully made his way to the grey maintenance unit. 

The teen all but collapsed on top of the box, relief and pain making him light-headed. He gripped his arm as he waited for the dizzy-spell to pass, vision distorting in a way that felt almost violent, and made his head spin. Pain from his leg brought Virgil back to reality.  _ I’m not out of the woods yet,  _ the teen realized,  _ I still have to stop the bleeding.  _ His hand was sticky with the substance as he gripped the hilt of his knife, which was, thankfully, still strapped to his uninjured thigh.  _ Here’s my metal, but how will I heat it?  _

Obviously, building a fire was out of the question. Even if he had the means to start one,  _ which he didn’t, _ there was no way to keep it from spreading uncontrolled through the small space, likely trapping and burning the injured teen before he could get away. 

Virgil looked around at the area, opening the maintenance box’s hatch in the hopes that there may be some solution to his dilemma. The hatch contained a circuit breaker, maintenance tools such as a wrench and a hammer for repairs, and what looked like a small car battery, likely meant as a backup power source for the unit.  _ “There,”  _ Virgil whispered, as he lifted the battery with great effort from the box.  _ “Electricity can create heat.”  _

Two wires extended from the box and Virgil gripped the plastic parts of them with one hand, twining them together and pressing them against the broad, flat edge of the knife he held in the other. The teen waited until the heat warmed even the wooden hilt of the blade to an uncomfortable degree before releasing the electrical wires, using his now free hand to steady his leg, focusing on the greatest source of the bleeding. Carefully, he unwrapped his leg, casting off his bloodstained undershirt, and the torn bandages. 

It may have been wishful thinking, but quieter than the sound of the snarls below him, the teen almost thought he heard a voice calling his name from afar. The sound gave him pause, but he did not hear it again. He hoped that, wherever the others were, they were alright. “ _ In case this doesn’t work,” _ Virgil thought, thinking of his friends, his famILY,  _ “I am so, so sorry.” _

Virgil took a deep breath, and thrust the flat of the knife against his wounded ankle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry about the cliffhangers. ;)  
> Don't worry though, more is coming!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are always welcome.   
> (I was too excited to post to take the time to properly edit so if there are any major errors feel free to (gently) let me know.)


	4. The Supply Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: zombies, grief
> 
> Note: This chapter is from Patton's POV, set around the same time as the other chapters take place

Patton ran a finger absentmindedly along the empty metal shelves as he walked down the aisle, strewn items and trash littering the tiled floor. The shorter teen had known that the chances of finding supplies would be slim, but the sight of the department store so hopelessly empty felt like a blow to the chest. The thought of going back to Virgil empty handed was almost unbearable, the teen had been so pale and shaky when he, Patton; Roman and Logan had left; and Patton had hoped, however foolishly, to find some medicine; antibiotics or at least something to dull his friend’s pain. 

_He looked so sick, even though he tried to hide it,_ Patton thought, remembering how the emo had bantered with Roman and Logan before they left, giving Patton a smile meant to reassure him even as the pain made him wince when he hugged Pat goodbye.

Patton looked at a poster on the wall of the store, tattered and hanging by one corner, but still promising “ _Two for one sales on essentials._ ” The almost cruel irony of the slogan made Patton grimace.

Once, before the outbreak, a place like this being closed or shut down would’ve seemed unremarkable at best. Stores were everywhere, and they had all manner of things. They were expendable and dispensable, because if you didn’t like the price of your chips at one store, it only took a five minute walk to find another corner store that did have what you wanted. Now Patton would give anything for that kind of ease, for this store to be stocked to the brim with supplies. 

_Not that I have very much left to give in exchange_ , he thought, painfully aware of how light his backpack felt on his shoulders. 

A frustrated groan from the back of the store alerted Patton to Roman’s whereabouts. Surely enough it was only a moment before the permanently tanned teen rounded the corner towards the blonde, sword at the ready by his side. The former actor’s stance was tense as he looked at Patton, clearly just as disappointed as the other boy was.

“Found anything?” Roman asked, eyes still alert for any signs of intrusion. All of the boys had had to adapt quickly to the world’s dangerous nature after everything fell apart, but Roman had established himself in their group of four as the most skilled fighter, having taken sword lessons from an uncle growing up. Roman had taken it upon himself to defend the others as much as possible, so he was responsible for guarding the area while Patton and Logan searched.

“Not much.” Patton responded, trying hard to remain composed. _It wouldn’t do us any good for me to get upset._ He reminded himself. _I have to stay upbeat, or at the very least calm._ “I found a few cans so I guess that’s something.” he continued.

Roman’s shoulders slumped the slightest bit before tensing again, upset but clearly trying to hide it just as much as Patton was. The curly blonde wondered, idly, if his attempts to stay positive we’re just as see-through to Roman as Roman’s were to him. 

Suddenly, there was a crash, and the sound of Logan swearing from the back of the store, behind the pharmacy counter. Patton and Roman sprung into action, Roman raising his sword aloft and Patton grabbing a small knife from his belt as they raced to their friend’s aid, prepared to fight off the dead or some unknown attacker.

Instead, they were greeted with the sight of a toppled shelf, the teen in question sprawled out on the floor. 

“I am alright.” Logan reassured as he pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing from the fall. “I was attempting to climb the shelf in search of supplies but it apparently was unable to support my weight.”

“Are you hurt?” Patton asked, stretching out a hand to help the teen to his feet. Logan winced again at the sudden movement but gladly accepted the help.

“Most likely a bit bruised, but otherwise unharmed. I’ll admit it was… unwise to climb the shelf, but I was hoping there may be something at the top. It was a foolish act but I dislike feeling this helpless to aid Virgil.”

“Same here Specs. This definitely sucks.” Roman agreed, not quite meeting the others eyes. Defeat did not come easy to the brunette, and admitting theirs clearly took a toll on him. 

_Alright Patton, it’s up to you to rally the team_ , the teen thought to himself after a moment of heavy silence. He worried his lip with his teeth, choosing his words carefully as he glanced at the conditions outside through the department store window. 

“Ok kiddos, I know the situation isn’t ideal, but I think we need to start heading back. It will probably be dark in an hour, and I don’t like the idea of keeping Virgil waiting alone much longer.” 

Logan let out a heavy sigh and Roman looked deeply unhappy but resigned. It didn’t take much to see how disappointed they were, and Patton couldn’t help but feel the same way. The shorter boy spent the trek back dreading the look on Virgil’s face when they returned, oblivious to the peril that the other teen was already in. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sky was just beginning to darken by the time that the three teens reached the school. Had it been brighter outside maybe they would have realized something was wrong sooner, would’ve recognized the signs of an invading horde. As it was it took them all until they had entered the front doors of the building to sense it. 

The sound of dull thudding and low growls filled the air and the group froze. 

_No._

Looks of panic were exchanged as the implications set in. Patton and the others grabbed their weapons and raced down the corridor.

_No, No, No, No, No. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Virgil. The dead had taken so many, they couldn’t take one of the only people Patton had left._ The teen thought frantically as they reached the hallway to the nurses office, where they had left their _injured, practically defenseless friend._

The hallway that was empty when they had left was now overflowing with the dead. They were clustered around the entry to Virgil’s room, door already hanging off its hinges, where they had obviously already forced it open, the sound of low groans and shuffling limbs emanating from inside. 

_They were too late._

“ **Virgil**!” Patton called out before he could stop himself. _“_ ** _Virgil are you there_** _?”_

“ **VIRGIL**!” Roman cried, moving to take a step towards the room. Some of the dead turned at the loud noise, and began to limp towards the teens. Logan was the only one who hadn’t yet spoken, clearly in shock but now he moved, grabbing the other two boys by the wrist. 

_“_ ** _RUN_** _!”_ The teen commanded, and Patton took a last helpless look at the room, feeling like his heart was being torn in two. 

“ _But Virgil-_ ” Roman protested, eye defiant and scared, unwilling to leave the teen who was an undeniable part of their family, unwilling to admit what they all knew deep down to be true. 

Logan stared the former actor down. “Roman we _can’t-”_ the usually unemotional teen’s voice broke, unable to finish the sentence. He didn’t have to, as much as they tried to deny it, they all knew the truth. 

_There was no way Virgil could have survived._

Patton let out a muffled sob as the grief began to sink in, using all of his effort to keep from collapsing under the weight of it. He watched as Roman’s face crumpled as well, and he could see that Logan was barely maintaining his composure. 

“We don’t have a choice, we _have_ to go.” Logan choked out as the dead reached them, and this time neither boy argued. Patton clutched his knife as the teens ran down the corridor and towards the front doors, the dead pursuing them with snarls and outstretched limbs. Roman turned and sliced at a few with his sword as they raced into the night. 

Patton should have felt frightened, but in the moment as they finally escaped, sprinting down the street and away from the dense throng of monsters that they all believed had torn their friend to pieces, Patton only felt cold; numb and tired and so so heavy. He supposed he was probably going into shock but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

It was only after the three had escaped into a nearby building, climbing the escape ladder that none of the dead could follow all the way to the roof that Patton truly let the truth sink in. Only after Roman had managed to start a fire and the other three sat huddled together against the breeze that Patton let himself break down, head between his knees as his chest heaved with tears, sobbing brokenly in the night air. 

_Virgil was gone. Virgil was gone,_ and Patton’s world felt like it was falling apart. 

Patton felt someone grip his hand and looked up to see Roman in a similar state to him, tears streaming down his face. They collapsed into each other, Patton gripping the back of the others shirt and Roman holding on just as tightly, seeking some sort of relief from the pain that felt like it was splitting his chest in two. Patton reached out for Logan in the darkness, and gripped the others hand like a lifeline. Logan let out a broken half-sob as he joined the embrace, the three of them huddled together, seeking comfort against the grief as they fell apart together. Tomorrow they would have to talk about it, would have to plan what on Earth to do next but for now they just held each other. For now, that was all that mattered. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the school’s atic, unknown to the grieving teens, a boy laid on his back, a cooling but still warm knife beside his fingertips, leg wound burned closed and the bleeding finally slowed. The boy's eyes were shut, and the teen dressed in purple was completely still, except for the rise and fall of his chest. The figure was bloody, and weak, and unconscious; but he was breathing, breathing and still very much alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are always welcome.


	5. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! I know it’s been a while since I’ve updated and once again this chapter is definitely not beta read, but I was really excited to post and decided I couldn’t wait! Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Warnings: grief, graphic injury, zombies, blood

Virgil’s vision blurred as he finally began to regain consciousness, blinking blearily at the darkened ceiling through the haze of pain and discomfort. The attic was hot and oppressive, and Virgil’s chest rose and fell in harsh pants as he took in deep breaths of air, before choking on a bit of dust and letting out a hacking cough as his body contracted. The sudden movement set his nerves on fire, and he let out a heavy groan in response to the various aches and pains of his battered body. Virgil strained to open his eyes further, to take in his surroundings and inspect his injuries, but even that simple action felt like too much effort and he submitted to the darkness of his closed eyelids for a moment. 

Virgil had never experienced pain like this before, his very being radiated with it as he choked out an aborted sob, tears seeping slowly from under his closed eyelids. Even breathing felt painful, the up and down motion of his chest seeming to trigger the searing fire of his leg wound. 

Virgil tried to find some inner reserve of strength, some drive to get up and tend to himself. He clenched his fists, which felt tacky with his own blood and tried to sit up with a groan, but only succeeded in banging his head as his incline was halted only a few inches off the ground as his muscles gave out and the back of his skull slammed none too gently back into the ground. 

Virgil had received his fair share of injuries in the past, the most notable being a badly sprained wrist from falling out of a tree as a child, and when he had received a slash wound down his back earlier in the year while scrambling his way under a barbed wire fence to escape a horde. But neither of those experiences came anywhere close to this. Never had he been in so much pain or been so alone to try and help himself. 

In the past someone had always been there to help him, too soothe and comfort and heal. He remembered how his mother had whispered reassurance in his ear as a doctor had splinted his sprained wrist, how Logan and had helped bandage his back, and how Roman and Patton had hovered protectively until he was completely healed. 

Virgil had never been isolated like this before. He had very little medical knowledge and what he had to do in order to stop the bleeding had threatened to push Virgil to his breaking point.

A shudder of involuntary horror made its way up Virgil’s spine as he recalled the pain of pressing the hot metal knife against his own leg, how the agony and the smell of burnt hair and flesh had overwhelmed him just as he had finished the deed and he had lost consciousness.

It had been a terrible terrible experience, and he felt bile rise in his throat at the still-fresh memory. 

Cauterization was something from the movies to the brown-eyed teen, an old-age survival tactic that he had never thought he’d see performed in real life, much less be doing to himself. 

_But he was alive._ Virgil reminded himself. _He had done it and that was all that mattered._

_————————————————————————————————————————————————————_

Logan awoke from a fitful sleep the morning after escaping the horde, the arm he had rested his head on numb and painful from the weight. The gravelly pavement of the building's roof scratched uncomfortably into his skin as the older teen sat up, untangling himself carefully from Patton’s outstretched arm. The other boy had been nearly inconsolable last night, and Logan had only gotten him to sleep by holding him, reassuring him silently that he was still there, that some part of his world remained the same even after the horror of the last 24 hours. 

  
  


The logical teen reached for his glasses, grateful when he found them still tucked into his backpack pocket. 

The sky was only just beginning to lighten, and Logan took a moment to take in his surroundings, stopping on the hunched silhouette of his other friend whose back was leaned up against the brick ledge on the edge of the roof. 

“I told you to wake me in a few hours,” Logan croaked at the figure, surprised at the hoarseness in his throat, “There was no need for you to keep watch all night.”

Roman shifted his weight as he returned the others' gaze.

“I couldn’t sleep.” The actor responded. It was a feeble excuse at best, but Logan didn’t press. Far be it from him to try and tell anyone else how to grieve, and if the still present redness around Roman’s eyes was any indication, the other had probably wanted to be alone with his feelings for a moment. 

Logan remembered the look on both of the others' faces as he had grabbed their hands last night, pulling them out of danger and away from Virgil’s room. There had been something desperate and desolate about both of their expressions even then, and he had watched as realization and grief set in for both of them in real-time. 

He had been feeling the same panic, the same _anguish_ , but there had been no time for emotions then, and Logan had always been better at putting his feelings aside than either of them. He had known that there was nothing he could do for Virgil anymore, the probability of him surviving a direct attack from a horde was next to nothing, and injured as he had already been the chance dwindled to impossible, so even though the less rational part of his brain had screamed at the _wrongness_ of leaving Virgil behind, Logan had still managed to stir his friends to action, to _safety_. 

That didn’t make him feel any less guilty, any less broken, as he looked at his two friends, knowing that there was an empty spot by Patton where Virgil should have slept; but at least he hadn’t lost Roman or Patton as well. It was cold comfort indeed, but it was something. 

Logan felt a weight settle heavily in his chest as the truth hit him again full force. 

Virgil was gone.

Virgil _was gone_ and he _wasn’t coming back._

_Virgil was gone and there was nothing Logan could do._

Logan felt the grief like a physical blow and he shuddered under its force, fighting not to let it take him under. 

There would be time later, some moment when he was alone that he could let it all out but not now. He had let himself break down last night, huddled against the other two, gripping Patton’s hand tightly as he watched the other two fall apart; but no more. 

Patton and Roman were going to need someone to be strong for them, someone to hold the group together as the long days stretched out in front of them came to pass. He knew how deeply they had all cared for Virgil, and he knew that he would be needed, would be looked to for guidance now amidst the storm of despair. 

Logan looked at Roman again, at the way his shoulders slumped inward against the bricks. He recalled Patton’s sobs as he has cried himself to sleep; felt the ache and the weight of grief and responsibility settling into his own bones like a disease, and hoped that he was up for the task. 


	6. The Attic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: zombies, nausea, and mentions of blood and gore

At first Virgil had assumed that the attic was only dark because it had been nighttime when the dead had invaded, but by now, with only a few slivers of light penetrating the space to tell him that it was now probably sometime in the morning or afternoon, Virgil had come to the conclusion that it was always this dreary. Even without the added stress of the sound of shuffling and groans from the horde below, the attic was the stuff of kid’s nightmares. There was barely enough light to see himself with, and everything more than a few feet away was lost to oblivion. Virgil found himself wishing for a crack in the ceiling, or any other sort of opening to the outside world, but other than the hole in the ceiling/floor where Virgil had pushed the tile away to climb into the attic, the building seemed totally void of defects. Virgil couldn’t help but feel suffocated by the darkness, and the parts of his brain that weren’t fully focused on the incredible amount of pain his body was still in, were dedicated to trying not to freak the heck out.

What made things even worse was that the teen had no clue how much time had passed since he had climbed into the ceiling’s crawl space. With no reliable way to tell how long he had been passed out after he burned his leg, the only thing the emo had to go off of was the state of his body. Still lying on his back on top of the metal box, Virgil attempted to catalogue the different pains and conditions his body was in. His leg burned with a level of pain that was almost frightening, and shallow cuts still stung his left side from the fall he had taken which had given him his original injury. He didn’t have an appetite, but that was likely due to the overwhelming pain and stress he was experiencing. His tongue felt dry and heavy in his throat, which he cleared painfully with a cough. It had to have been at least a day since he had been with the others, maybe two if his thirst was anything to go by. Even his throat burned as he tried to swallow, and Virgil could say with confidence that this was the worst he had ever felt in his life. 

_But I’m alive_ , he thought to himself with a bit of surprise. He would be lying if he claimed that he thought the whole cauterization thing would really work, and though the jury was still out on whether he could escape this attic, at least he wasn’t actively bleeding out anymore. 

Virgil knew he needed to inspect his injuries, but the prospect of sitting up sounded like an impossible task. He had no energy, and he knew that his pain would probably double with the slightest movement. His eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, and Virgil resisted the impulse to go back to sleep. If he did, the teen knew he would only be more weak when he woke up again, and any chance he had would go out the window. _The others wouldn’t want him to-_

_The others._ Virgil remembered, startled by the suddenness of the thought. The last few hours of his life had been so daunting that his entire consciousness had narrowed to the closet and the attic, but now he was reminded of what had been going on before that. 

_Patton and Roman and Logan had promised to be back before dark_. Virgil remembered, the beginnings of fear swirling in his gut. He may not have known exactly how much time had passed, but he knew that the sky had already been darkening when the zombie horde had entered the building. 

_Something must have happened to them._ His brain insisted. Roman and Patton might have lost track of time on their own, but Logan was with them, and he had a remarkable sense of punctuality, even under the extraordinary circumstances the group faced every day. _They must have run into something and had to make camp for the night._ Virgil rationalized, trying to rid himself of the sinking feeling in his chest. 

_Unless they had come back after dark_ , Virgil thought, _Unless they ran into the horde while trying to return_. The teen felt horror at the thought. The group had faced hordes before but none in such close quarters or with so little warning. _What if they had been looking for me and had gotten hurt?_

Virgil remembered thinking he had heard someone call his name before he had placed the burning knife against his ankle, and he felt cold dread wash over him. At the time he had dismissed it as wishful thinking but what if he had been wrong? 

_What if it really was them?_ Virgil thought. He tried to think back if he had heard anything else, but the teen had already been in so much pain by then and had lost so much blood that his memory of the moment was fuzzy.

_Please let them be ok_ , Virgil thought. He prayed that he had been the only one caught up in the dead’s attack, because he had no idea what he would do if he found out otherwise. 

One thing was clear; if he wanted answers, he would have to find the strength to escape. 

_Starting with sitting up._ Virgil thought to himself. He gritted his teeth, bracing his arms against the floor before pushing himself up slowly, unable to go any faster as the white hot agony flooded his senses. Virgil felt nausea rising in his throat and no sooner had he reached a sitting position than he was dry heaving over his own lap, arms now braced in front of him to keep him from collapse. When the compulsion finally subsided, Virgil scrubbed a dirty sleeve across his watering eyes. 

Virgil focused on filling and emptying his lungs, using the rhythm as a focusing point as he tried to regain his wits. The dank attic air stung his dry throat, and Virgil felt a detached sense of unfairness at the fact that even _breathing_ hurt. Virgil tended to be more cynical than his companions, and he was no stranger to suffering, but this seemed like overkill even to him. 

For the first time Virgil registered the lingering smell of burnt flesh in the air and his face twisted in revulsion. He pulled the fabric of his hoodie to his mouth to block the odor, unwilling to submit himself to another bout of nausea, but the jacket was too thick to breathe through properly and he was forced to let it drop, doing his best to ignore the smell of what he had done to his ankle. 

The teen scanned the floor looking for his knife, which was lying beside the car battery at his feet. Virgil vaguely remembered untwining the electrical wires before passing out, and was grateful that he’d had the presence of mind to do so, sure that if left alone the spark could’ve burned him alive. He reached for the knife with an unsteady hand, sliding the flat of the blade across his pants to remove any traces of his own blood or gore before returning it to the holster strapped to his upper leg. He knew, realistically, that in his condition having a knife would not tip the scales that much in his favor, but he felt a bit better to at least not be entirely defenseless.

Virgil had not had time to take in his surroundings before but now he twisted his torso to look around. The darkness of the attic obscured much of the crawlspace, but Virgil could guess that the blurry shapes were probably the remains of the building’s air conditioning and other utilities. The only thing that looked out of place was the wooden board Virgil could only just make out in the dim lighting. It was the kind used in construction, and it laid flat against the flimsy ceiling tiles; extending between the machines and beyond Virgil’s range of sight. It didn’t appear to serve any purpose, and Virgil wondered how it had ended up there, or why someone would go to the trouble of placing it up there. 

It wasn’t long before he got his answer, though it certainly wasn’t one he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh it’s good to be writing for this story again! It’s definitely one of my favorite personal writing projects I’m doing right now. Hope ya’ll are enjoying it as much as I am. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are all welcome.


	7. The Morning After (The Aftermath pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst, grief, and mentions of death
> 
> This chapter is from Patton's POV and takes place right where chapter 5 (The Aftermath) leaves off.

Patton was quiet when he woke. The usually cheerful teen felt hollow and empty as he sat up, body still weak from crying. His skin stung from the harsh ground but he barely registered it, not even caring enough to brush the loose gravel from his clothes. A few feet from Patton sat Roman, back leaning against the building’s ledge and eyes closed. Beside him sat Logan, who’s head snapped up from where it had been hanging in his hands to meet Patton’s gaze. Patton reached instinctively to touch his face, realizing that he was not wearing his glasses. A twinge of anxiety gripped him.

“Where are my-?” Patton began to ask before Logan interrupted. 

“I have them.” The older boy moved from where he had been sitting, grabbing Patton’s glasses from the pocket of his backpack and crouching in front of him. Logan returned them to the other’s hand and Patton placed them on the bridge of his nose with relief. 

Logan’s tone was apologetic. “You fell asleep with them on last night and I didn’t want them to get scratched.” Patton flinched at the reminder of the night's events, and a flare of pain rose in his chest.

Patton was no stranger to loss. He could recognize the ache in his chest for what it was; grief, but it was so much more powerful than he had ever understood before the dead had risen. He remembered studying the stages of grief in class once, but nothing he had ever heard or read could compare to this. He had already lost so much but this latest loss seemed to reach his bones, sapping his strength and making him feel hollow to his core. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The outbreak had just begun when Patton had lost his family. During the first wave of the dead’s attack the world had not been quick enough to understand what was happening. How could they have known the carnage, the destruction that was coming? By the time authorities had recognized a pattern, sensed the impending danger it had been too late to stop it; the dead had overrun the streets. Patton and his parents had barricaded themselves in their house, had spent weeks holed up in the basement with the sounds of the dead surrounding the building. The claw of their hands on the front door and the groans and moans set everyone on edge, jumping at the slightest shift. 

Their only connection to the outside world in those early days had been a handheld radio, which they huddled around eagerly; desperate for news. The broadcasts asked people not to panic, told them to stay in their homes and away from the ‘infected.’ The broadcast warned that if an infected were to bite a person or break the skin through another means, such as scratching, that individual had to be quarantined away from the rest of their group. If they developed a fever, then they had been infected. They would die, the broadcast warned, and then the body would rise and attack. 

That warning was the only thing on the radio for the first few nights, replaying on a loop over and over again. It had seemed like madness, that at any moment the whole thing would be revealed to be a terrible nightmare, but at the end of the second week, when Patton’s family had almost run out of food, they had been forced to accept that the whole story was true. Patton remembered best the feelings of constant terror from that time, denial grappling with horror as he came to grips with what was happening.

It was on the third week that everything changed. The radio broadcasted a new announcement, a robotic male voice declaring that evacuation shelters were being built and that all uninfected persons were welcome. The shelters promised food and protection, and were reportedly being set up around the nation. Patton’s family saw it as a ray of hope, if they could make it to the nearest station, they would be saved. 

They were wrong, very wrong. Not a day went by that Patton didn’t wish they could have known what was waiting for them, could’ve prevented it somehow. But none of them had known as they drove on the highway, speeding and swerving to avoid the dead, that they were headed for their doom. 

The evacuation shelter had already been destroyed. 

Patton’s family realized too late the danger they were in. They were swarmed by the dead the moment they stepped into the building, and only the bravery of Patton’s parents saved him. They screamed for him to run as they led the horde away, buying Patton a few precious moments to escape before they were overcome. Their screams echoed down the hallway as Patton ran. The sound of their pain and terror still haunted Patton’s nightmares.

After that Patton’s grief and loneliness threatened to be his undoing. He had been so relieved after he had found Virgil, relieved to not be alone. He had been Patton’s first friend after the world fell apart, and he had been the first one to hear Patton’s story, the first to understand his pain. They had kept each other alive, and when Roman and then Logan joined their little group, Patton had felt love for their little famILY. The world was cruel and hard and painful, but at least Patton had the other three by his side. 

Until now. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

_He had lost his first family, and now he had lost Virgil too._ The revelation was almost too much to bear and Patton felt his bottom lip quiver with more unshed tears. Logan’s face creased and his hands flitted across Patton’s body for a moment without touching him, seeming unsure how to help. 

“Don’t.” Patton rasped. The other teen pulled his hands back quickly and rocked back on his heels so he was sitting further away from Patton, giving him the space he needed. Patton bowed his head, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes and choking back emotion. He didn’t want to cry again. He lifted his eyes to meet Logan and Roman’s gaze, who was still watching the pair from his spot against the ledge. 

“We have to go back.” Patton said. It was a statement, not a question. 

A long pause stretched across the rooftop and Patton watched the expressions on his friends’ faces shift and change. Both were full of pain. Logan’s eyes looked distant and sad. Roman’s eyes held sparks of anger, of desperation, and Patton watched the other clench his jaw, waiting for Logan’s response.

_Roman must’ve said the same thing while I was asleep_ , Patton realized. He watched as Logan’s gaze turned from Patton to Roman, the tension in the air palpable and suffocating. 

Logan’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “You know what going back there means.” He spoke into the air.

Patton did.

_It meant knowing they probably wouldn’t find Virgil. It meant accepting it. It meant danger and terrible risk, the kind of risk that Logan hated more than anything._

_It will be worth it._ Patton thought. 

“Yes.” He replied, watching as Roman simply nodded his head.

“Ok then.” Logan said, sounding tired and so very sad. His gaze hardened a fraction. “But we'll wait until tomorrow, so that some of the dead will have wandered away.”

Patton saw Roman’s eyes blaze but he stayed silent. They both knew it was the only way. 

So they waited, unaware of the fresh horrors the next day would bring; for the next sunrise would bring with it not hope, but despair. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh boy y'all are not ready for what comes next. (Spoiler alert: even more grief and hurt.) Anyway, now you have some backstory on Patton. More backstory on how the group came together will come later :)
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are all welcome. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is really short compared to the others. I was going to write more but I got lazy so I figured I'd give you what I have so far. :)

Roman had thought that nothing could hurt worse than having to abandon Virgil, but it turned out that watching the school building where they had lost him go up in smoke two days later was a pretty close second. 

—————————————————————

  
The morning after their escape Roman had awoken earlier than either of the others. Back pressed against the brick ledge behind him, the teen looked out at the city streets below and tried to think of nothing as he waited for Patton and Logan to wake up.

Unsurprisingly, Logan awoke first. Roman watched as his friend blinked away sleep. Logan’s face in those first moments was unguarded, and Roman saw so much of his own pain reflected in it that he had to turn away, throat burning with emotion.

  
They fought then, with tense, hushed voices. Logan was resistant, at first, to the idea of going back to the school building, concerned about the threat it would pose to all of their safety. Logan didn’t say it, but his thought hung in the air, clear as day nonetheless. 

_  
There’s no point in risking our lives when Virgil is already dead._

Roman felt the beginnings of anger stirring deep within him, and he may have done something brash if Patton had not chosen that moment to awaken. The freckled teen awoke with still puffy eyes and a wobbly voice, begging to go back, and Logan had been forced to concede, on the condition that they wait a day in the hopes that some of the horde would have dispersed by then.   
  


Deep down Roman knew that Logan was right, it would’ve taken a miracle for Virgil to escape the horde, but he clung to hope out of stubbornness. If Virgil was alive, then Roman wouldn’t have to feel like he had failed him and so he refused to speak of his friend as if he was already gone. 

It was the morning of the second day after they had been forced to flee the school building that the unthinkable happened. 

Roman awoke to the smell of smoke, scrambling to his feet to find the source. Further down the block, the teen could see fire beginning to engulf the school building. Roman let out a strangled cry and the sound woke the other two, who rose to their feet only to be confronted with the same sight. Patton was only able to watch for a moment before his face crumpled and he went slack against Logan, face pressed into the other’s side as if to shield himself. Logan and Roman stared on in horror as they processed the sight of flames licking up the side of the building and the dark billows of smoke rising from the disaster. The fire had clearly been burning for a few hours, and any chance of them rescuing their friend had ended. If the dead hadn’t killed him, then this certainly had. Overcome by the realization, Roman couldn’t stop from balling his hands into fists, jaw clenched to suppress the rising emotions. 

“How could this have happened?!” Roman demanded of Logan. The other teen, who usually prided himself on having all the answers could only shake his head.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted, voice sounding strained. “It doesn’t make any sense. The building was fairly structurally sound. I don’t… I can’t...” Logan rarely struggled for words, but it was plain that he was just as affected by this as the other two. 

Roman felt anger rising in him, dark and destructive. “Of course you don’t know!” He exploded and Logan visibly flinched. _Virgil is gone, Virgil is gone, Virgil is gone._ The words played on a loop in Roman’s head and he felt his vision go red. “This is all your fault! If we had only gone yesterday-”

“That wouldn’t have changed anything and you know it!” Logan retorted, composure cracking under the strain of grief. “The probability of Virgil being alive was near impossible, and I was not going to stand by while you got us killed too!”

Roman clenched his hands tighter at the accusation while the logical side continued. “Had you even stopped to think things through?! What were you going to do when we got there to find Virgil’s body in tatters or reanimated as one of the dead? You let false hope blind you but I couldn’t let you put yourself or the rest of us at risk like that!” 

Patton seemed to revive himself from his shock at that, separating from Logan to look at the other two with an already tear-stained face. “Please don’t fight,” he said. “Virgil wouldn’t…Virgil wouldn’t...want-” The teen broke off, face contracting in grief. The usually cheerful boy pressed his hands tightly against his face, frame shuddering as if from cold.

Roman stepped back like he had been slapped, the fight seeming to drain from his face all at once. _Virgil was gone, Virgil was gone._ He thought, and suddenly arguing felt so pointless. It had only been a distraction anyway, and with his excuse to be angry gone, Roman was left only with grief. It plowed into him in great waves as he watched the smoke continue to drift across the sky, spreading the ashes of the fire across the street. 

_Virgil was gone_. _Virgil was gone_ and Roman had never felt more lost, or more helpless in his life. 

_What were they going to do now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry! I promise its not what you think. 
> 
> As always; kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are all welcome.


	9. The Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Wow, it’s really been a while huh? Sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> (I polished up the last chapter a bit but all the main details are the same so it’s not necessary to re-read it in order to understand this chapter.)
> 
> Note: this chapter takes place a few hours before chapter 8 (The Fire)

Virgil had always had strong instincts. Growing up with just him and his mom, the teen had learned a thing or two about self-preservation. Add in some bullying and social anxiety, and by the time the apocalypse had come around to turn the world on its head, the boy had already had powerful fight-or-flight instincts.   
  


Now, staring at the wooden board that stretched out over the floor of the attic like a pirates plank, Virgil felt uncertainty grip his heart in a vise. The plank was undeniably out of place among the metallic support beams and the cardboard-like ceiling tiles, and the teen couldn’t help but feel uneasy.   
  


When the sound of a muffled clang reached his ears from behind the machinery near the other wall of the attic, Virgil felt his breathing go shallow with terror.   
  


Thanks to his earlier struggle to gain his bearings, the teen was already sitting upright, and he used the vantage point to frantically scan his surroundings for danger. Suddenly the attic’s darkness went from an inconvenience to a source of panic. He couldn’t defend himself from something he couldn’t see. 

_Could one of the dead have gotten into the crawl space somehow?_ He thought to himself, body rigid with tension as he held his knife aloft. The teen willed his tired muscles not to give out under the strain as he waited for discovery.  
  


It wasn’t long in coming.

No sooner had he thought it than a silhouette made itself known in the darkness, peeking out from behind the machinery. Even in almost total shadows Virgil could still hear the distinctive click of a gun.

_Oh crap._  
  


“Move and I’ll shoot.” A strangers voice rasped, sharp and clear. 

Virgil’s blood ran cold.   
  


”We don’t wanna hurt you gem,” a new voice said, joining the first, “we just need to know that you’re not a threat, and that you’ll cooperate.”

“Yeah, ok.” Virgil said, throat still raw from stomach acid and weak from lack of water. _As if I can trust you._ He thought. The hand that held the knife shook as adrenaline flooded his system. A few moments passed in tense silence before the strangers spoke again.   
  


“Do you have any weapons?” The first voice asked.   
  


Virgil shook his head as he worked to force words out of his throat again, knowing that the gesture was probably lost in the dim attic lighting but unable to stop himself. He dropped his knife to his lap and out of sight.   
  


“No weapons.” The teen lied. The knife was nothing compared to the stranger’s gun, but he refused to forfeit his only blade.   
  


“Alright,” the second voice said. “I’m going to move towards you and turn on our flashlight.”

Wide-eyed, Virgil had only a moment to shove the blade back into its holster and cover it with his clothing before a light was flashed in his face, blinding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapters pretty short, but I figured a short chapter was better than no updates for the foreseeable future while I tried to wrestle my writing muse into submission. ^_^’
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are all welcome. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t worry, more chapters are coming! 
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are very welcome.


End file.
